IKEAs Don't Make Good Shelters
by Quinn Aries
Summary: Loki x Reader. It's been a long day and you're not exactly thrilled to deal with crazy guy who won't leave the store.


Your shift was almost over, right? Because you'd been standing in this IKEA with a plate of meatballs for four hours and you were absolutely done with today. You just wanted to go home and sleep.

When the time finally came to go home however, you noticed a certain someone. A certain someone who had yet again crashed in one of the bedroom sets, hugging a decorative pillow like a security blanket.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.

"Oi! You!" You yelled, attempting to tug the pillow from his iron like grip to little avail. "I'm pretty sure this is the third time this week. I told you, you can't sleep in the display rooms."

"Mrghh... go away, mortal..." His voice was slurred with sleep and his eyes tightly squeezed shut. You had no idea what he meant by calling you mortal, but whatever it was, it didn't matter as much as the fact that he'd been lurking around this store for a few weeks, probably living off the free meatballs. He was probably some kind of druggie from the streets or just a desperate homeless man.

"If you keep doing this, i'm gonna be forced to kick your ass out of the store, buddy."

That got his attention and he sat up, looking understandably peeved. "I'd like to see you try. Now if you'll excuse me..."

"Oh, no you don't! Don't test me." Before he could lay down again, you grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him from the bed. He fell to the floor in a muddle of pillows and bedspreads.

"You've got to go. This isn't a shelter. If you want, i'll call one for you, but its been a long day and i'm not putting up with this bull."

He untangled himself from the blankets on the floor, looking up at you no less than murderously. "I have no intention of leaving, nor going to a Midgardian 'shelter.' No one is using the rooms here, and they're preferable to the places you send the scum of the streets."

You groaned. "They're not being used because we're trying to sell them to people! That's not the point. You can't be here, you've got to go. Anywhere, just not here!" By this point you were done with courtesy, not that you had much to begin with, and you were just plain pissed off.

"Fine then, mortal. I will take my leave." He stood and simply strode out, without a hint of backlash.

You meanwhile fumed under your breath. "Stupid Shakespearean reject... I swear to god..."

~~~

That asshole from the IKEA store was here, in _your_ apartment! Sitting calmly at the island with his hands folded like some kind of evil mastermind. Which he must have been. It had been a few days and he'd disappeared thankfully, but now you returned from late shift to find him waiting in your own freaking home. The crazy must have stalked you and broken into your house. So you did what came naturally, you threw the closest thing to you, a plastic lamp, at him.

"Get out of my house, you psychopath!"

The lamp sailed over his shoulder, crashing harmlessly onto the rug.

"If I remember correctly, when you refused to let me stay in your labyrinth of rooms, you said 'anywhere, just not there.'" His self satisfied smug pierced right through you.

"Not my house! What are you, some kind of evil homeless loophole lawyer?"

"No, I am a god seeking a place to rest while I plan my next move."

"OH, I get it." Your voice dripped with sarcasm. "You're an evil homeless man with a god complex. Like I also said, there are homeless shelters. Or psychiatric wards. Or people that aren't me to harass."

"Those shelters are pathetic and vile. Your place of residence is suitable." His smirk widened, and he got up, moving into your bedroom. He dropped onto your bed, and you made a muffled screaming noise through clenched teeth.

"Why so tense, (y/n)?" Okay, he knew your name too. Maybe it was because you were wearing your name tag the other day, but still.

"You're not going to leave, are you?"

"No." And with that, you yelped as he grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the bed with him, wrapping his arms around your middle. You squirmed and kicked, but he was like a statue, unmoving.

"Cease your struggling, (y/n). Sleep." His voice indicated he was already starting to drop off.

Grumbling insults that he could hear under your breath, you stopped moving. A few moments later you heard snores. You couldn't exactly move, so you resigned yourself crankily to your fate as this ridiculous, psychopathic (and admittedly attractive) man clung to you like he had the decorative pillows. _This isn't so bad,_ your sleep deprived brain admitted before you too gave in to dreams.


End file.
